The Haven
by Dark-n-Twisty
Summary: "Family is a haven in a heartless world." The Blake sisters know this better than most. But what becomes of their once unwavering bond when the very magic that binds them threatens to tear them apart? Abby and Cassie soon learn that running from their heritage has serious consequences, not to mention how bad things can get when you meddle with fate.
1. A Beginning of Sorts

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but my thoughts, and any characters you don't recognize, all that you do obviously aren't mine.

**AN**: Give it a chance before you judge to harshly people.

**::**

**Chapter 1**

**_A Beginning of Sorts..._**

**::**

I'd just like to point out—I am not the kind of girl that gets to be the heroine. No, in this three-ring circus we call life, I'd more often than not compare myself to the poor soul that shoveled the elephant crap between shows, or the sucker they got to feed the lions. Call it what you will: a lack of ambition; a clinical need to under-achieve; whatever it was I'm sure my guidance counselor would've had a field day with me if I'd ever bothered to show up for those appointments.

I'm not inherently good or brave beyond reason, or even all that interesting five minutes into a conversation because chances are you'd catch me on a day when my IQ and my mouth weren't syncing up correctly.

I don't run towards danger with the hope that I can change the world. Quite the opposite actually, I'm all for the running and the hiding and the waiting for the beefy stud-muffin to make with the saving like he's damn well supposed to at the end of every movie. Because if I have to put that much effort into being the lovable ingénue, waking up with neither a hair out-of-place or blemish on my face, and pretend like running from the bad guys in four-inch heels doesn't kill my feet or have me reaching for an inhaler...you bet your ass he's going to be the one doing all the heavy lifting. Feminism be damned!

But most importantly...I am not the girl that saves the day. Call the cops, the fire department, the Men in Black–_anyone_ before me in the event of a crisis. If I found your lost cat stuck up a tree, chances are he'd still be lost in the morning because A; I don't do heights, and B...cats worship the devil, so they probably deserved it.

I'd be the first person to admit I had issues, and not the usual woe-is-me-no-one-understands-me drivel most of my peers seemed to be infected with. On the contrary, the reason for my rather impressive slacker complex could be summed up into a fairly simple number—nine and a half.

Just nine and a half months was all that separated my sister and I from a set of _Thing 1_ and _Thing 2_ bibs, from shared birthdays and matching birthmarks on our ankles. Irish twins was the term, though I wasn't sure if being Irish was actually a requirement, but it was just another way of saying my sister and I were born the same year.

Of course, the other way of saying it was that my parents were such complete horndogs that they couldn't even wait for the baby-maker to cool before they...ugh, train of thought officially over.

Point being, my dilemma was also my saving grace. My sister Cassie was everything I wasn't, and I both loved and hated her for it. Vulnerable yet headstrong, average for the moment yet bursting with unexplored potential, possessing a soft beauty enhanced only by the simple fact that she didn't think of herself as such, Cassie was someone you'd root for against all odds.

I thought she was far more in keeping with the conventional heroine than I was, and if tradition had its way, the events that transpired in Chance Harbor would've been a one-woman show starring everyone's favorite doe-eyed orphan, Cassie Blake. But in the chaos I guess I held her hand too tightly, clinging to the comfort she offered so freely, my very own port in the storm. And so I too was driven on to the stage, under a harsh unforgiving spotlight with the distinct impression that opening night was upon us, and I knew none of my lines... 

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>Ok…so it's a sister-fic. I went there. Someone was bound to. In fact, I'm sure some already have, but I can assure you that I will strive to make this an interesting ride, and I will be adding my own twists and turns to the story arcs so that it's not just a recap of every episode with a new character along for the ride. Please be aware that while I will be taking my cue from the TV series, I have read the books so it will have some influence if only in the form of their spells...way creeper then some of the garbage they tried passing off as spellwork in the show. Please let me know what you think.

**To those who've already jumped on this bandwagon with me, you'll notice the addition of a new chapter 1. I did this mostly because I wanted to give people a reason to care enough about my OC to stick around and give the story a fair chance. For those of you who didn't need the prompting, I know who you are and I thank you. I'll find some way to reward you. **


	2. The Fire in the Prologue

****This chapter was altered and edited on 2/9/13****

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Secret Circle…or any of the pop culture references you may recognize.

**AN**: Note that we are jumping out of my OC's point of view, and into 3rd person narrative for this chapter…here goes nothing. Let me know which you prefer.

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**Chapter 2**

**The Fire in the Prologue**

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Charles Meade had always thought of himself as an adaptive man, ready for nearly every possible outcome; the kind of man that _always_ had a plan. It was a skill that had made him a formidable member of his Circle before the fire, and one he'd only half-heartedly used to transition into a life without the addicting kiss of magic at his fingertips.

Before that fateful night sixteen years ago, he couldn't have imagined he'd still be confined to his hometown, living comfortable but stagnant. Surrounded by familiar sites and faces, yet desperately yearning for the life he could've had. Chance Harbor was little more than a picturesque cage to him now.

The injustice of it all had burned inside him like an unrelenting wildfire, thriving just below the surface, never wavering. Even after all these years, the mere thought of just how ruthless the Elders had been in their quest to strip their own children of their magic made him so blind with rage at times that he'd often leave Diana in his mother's care as a child to take extended "business trips" out-of-town, where he could vent away from prying eyes. To cripple their own children so completely was almost unforgivable. A witch would sooner sacrifice their limbs then give up their magic–you could learn to survive without limbs.

Of course, to the average mortal it would seem as though Charles Meade had done well for himself. He had a thriving law career, a generous amount of money in his bank account, high standing in the city council, and a loving daughter with great promise of her own.

Just about everything an all-powerful witch **_didn't_** dream of. Because when the sky was the limit, a man demanded more for himself.

It wasn't that he didn't love his daughter, because, truly, he did. Diana had made his life bearable, even downright joyous at times, gifting him with an unconditional love he'd never experienced before.

But he'd be lying if he said he hadn't expected _more_. Success by normal standards was much too easy to obtain for a man like him, and far less satisfying than even the smallest fraction of the power he'd once wielded; the power that had been his birthright, the very power he intended to kill for this very night.

And wasn't it just the way of all life changing moments, that fate had deemed what was to be the first calculated strike against the Elders too tempting to leave unchallenged, tauntingly dangling his prize just out of reach. He could practically hear his mother's voice in the back of his head, scolding him as she'd done nearly everyday of his life, _"…Pride goeth before the fall, Charles."_

Oh, he'd been prepared for Cassie. Had planned the altercation on the roadway almost perfectly when he'd realized the girl might actually beat him to the finish line. Desperate though he might have been, he wasn't so far gone as to force a child to watch what was sure to be her worse fear come true. By the end of the night, a flat tire would be the least of Cassie Blake's worries.

But as he stood before the modest house of Amelia Blake, Charles realized he should have taken the signs more seriously, should have recognized them for what they really were––_warnings_.

The oddly knowing way the ferryman had looked at him as he'd ushered his dark sedan onto the ferryboat into town, the forceful winds that had kept him from pushing the speed limit on the highway like he'd planned, giving him mere seconds to gain on Cassie. One more sign would have completed the trifecta of bad omens. Once was chance, twice, perhaps a coincidence, but a smart witch never took their chances with the number three. Thrice always came with a price…_always_. It was one of the few laws of nature magic couldn't bend.

Never had that truth been more apparent to him then it was now.

There he was, just a few well-chosen spells away from setting in motion the events that would ultimately lead him back into a world he'd barely gotten a taste of before it was brutally ripped away from him, the night air swaying around his unmoving form on the front lawn of this humble little haven of peace, unwilling to comprehend the scene that was unfolding before his eyes.

They were certainly a sight; Amelia Blake, just as lovely as she'd always been, and a young girl, a girl who most certainly _wasn't_ Cassie. They made a unnervingly sweet picture, with their matching grins and dancing blue eyes, leaning over the kitchen sink as they recounted their day. The girl didn't seem to be much older than the one he'd left stranded on the highway.

He blinked; once, twice, three times, his pulse dancing all the while. But no matter how many times he closed his eyes, the sight before him remained, all the while looking the perfect image of mother and child. And, frankly, that just **_wasn't_** possible.

For a minute it felt as though Charles could actually feel the earth spinning beneath his feet, and his legs almost buckled from the strain to stay upright. He clutched at his hair desperately trying to come up with a logical way to explain away the fair-haired girl gesturing animatedly beside Amelia.

_'Another daughter...another Blake...'_

It wasn't possible.

Not just because he found it hard to believe that Amelia had been pregnant before Cassie, but because, God help him, he _recognized_ the girl staring helplessly at the potato peeler the older woman had plopped into her hands. At least small pieces of her; the tint of her hair, blonde (as any Blake ought to be) yet decidedly deeper then Amelia's. Those cursed bottomless blue eyes that were several shades too dark to come from her mother, even the stubborn turn of her jaw. These things nagged at the back of his mind, making him feel as though a thin haze kept him from something that should have been painfully obvious.

Charles racked his brain, trying to remember if any of the information he'd dug up on Amelia had even _hinted_ that she might have had another child.

Despite the fact that to most inhabitants of Chance Harbor it seemed like Charles and his friends had been a part of some pregnancy pact, the children of his circle had been a direct result of their circle's reckless abandon for magic coupled with their need to rebel against the overbearing authority of the Elders. Health class sure as hell hadn't prepared them for the heady combination of sex and magic and even noble little Amelia had fallen prey to her more _carnal_ desires. Blackwell had seen to that.

Charles disregarded the possibility of Amelia concealing twins, with how uncharacteristically _attentive _John had been throughout her pregnancy he was quite certain Cassie had been the first child. But _apparently,_ not the last. From the looks of things, he gathered the two girls couldn't have been more than a year apart, if that.

And just like that, his eyes widened, a stray thought crossed his mind and lingered too long for him to ignore it.

Cassie had been born just a few months before the fire, which meant that Amelia had already been pregnant when she'd high-tailed it out of town...far away from their circle... and the likes of one John Blackwell.

And suddenly the cold hard truth was all too apparent.

"Oh, Amelia," Charles mused darkly, shaking his head in near disbelief, "no _wonder_ you ran so fast…"

Finding the run-away witch had taken almost no effort, and he couldn't have been more annoyed that she'd been so close, nearly right under their noses for so long. Amelia had run so fast, he'd thought for sure she'd be holed up in some remote corner of the world, certainly not nine hours and a lengthy ferry ride away.

It had always angered him, that Amelia thought she could leave everything behind. She thought she could escape the clutches of her old circle, that she could start over while the rest of them were left to suffer in the ruins, grieving for their loved ones along with a piece of themselves they'd been convinced they could never get back. It was salt in a wound that had never quite healed, growing steadily worse everyday he looked into his daughter's eyes, the spitting image of her mother's, and it was one of the main reasons he hadn't argued when Dawn insisted he be the one to dispose of Amelia.

Despite popular belief, he wasn't a simpleton, not by any means. You didn't acquire the status and notoriety that he did, nor keep it for that matter, without a devious streak and enough sense to know when you're being manipulated. Better, he thought, to give Dawn the illusion of control.

Taking a glance around the darkened street, Charles went in for a closer look, all the while listening in on the pair unaware of his presence, hoping beyond reason that his inner ramblings were the result of severe paranoia. That the doubt needling away at his insides was a result of being so close to his goal he could practically taste the seductive tinge of his own magic, and not the crystal's poor substitute. Because the prospect of another witch with the kind of potency Amelia's line possessed was something neither he nor Dawn had prepared for.

Cassie was a means to an end, a piece they'd anticipated on their chessboard. But two girls with Blake blood was inviting a whole new set of snags into an already overly complicated web. And in that scenario, Charles wasn't exactly sure who'd be the predator and who'd be the prey.

__Inside the house__

_"Okay mom seriously, when I asked if you needed a hand, you realize it was rhetorical, right?" The mouthy teenager frowned down at the potato peeler that had been plopped into her hands unsuspectedly, clutching the handle awkwardly and holding the utensil away from her body as if it had offended her. _

_"Nope."_

_"Come on! Me in the kitchen is like...a bra with no padding––freaking useless. And speaking of which, the hobbit borrowed my favorite sweater today and completely stretched out the chest! I want swift justice!"_

_Amelia appeared comically exasperated, though she had to turn away from her daughter and pretend to fuss with the carrots she'd already chopped to hide her uncontrollable grin. "Abby, what have I said about calling your sister that? And you don't seem to have a problem helping yourself to our clothes."_

_Eyes wide in outrage, the teen was quick to defend herself. "That's because I'm like...physically incapable of stretching them out! I swear, if you and Cassie keep walking around with those water balloons in your shirts, you're going to damage my self-esteem. Before puberty, it was fine, mostly because I thought it was a preview of things to come. But now, it's like you're mocking me!" _

_The older woman snorted at the indignant downturn of her daughters' lips. "Because heaven _**_forbid_**_ anyone but you do the mocking around here."_

_"Exactly!" The girl nodded seriously, so seriously that one almost wondered whether the sarcastic lilt of her mother went over her head entirely. "And you don't even have the decency to appreciate them with your bulky sweatshirts and turtlenecks…they're just wasted on you two. Ugh!" The lanky girl moaned, huffing petulantly at her mom's uncontrollable laughter._

_Amelia dabbed at the corner of her eyes, still chuckling."I told you, you're still evening out, and you're taller than your sister, so just look at it like your growth spurt has a lot of ground to cover. Besides, the ones you've got now are perfectly fine for your age."_

_The girl scoffed. "_**_Perfectly fine_**_, she says. Who the heck wants boobs that are 'perfectly fine'? Like ever? See this right here is exactly the kind of attitude that makes me think you somehow repressed the big-boob-gene when I was in the womb. Thanks a bunch, mom."_

_"Wait," Amelia snickered, "if it's such a big deal why'd you give us those push-up bras for Christmas?"_

_"I figured I could live vicariously or whatever," the teen grumbled, "a lot of freaking good that did me. Now they freaking feel twice as small." _

_"Abbs! How bout' you find a new 'freaking' word. Preferably one that doesn't make me feel like I should be giving you a bar of soap to suck on."_

_"Okay, one; freak's a lot better than the alternative, of which I am also fond of…" At her mother's stern look, the teen quickly amended, "…but will never ever say in your benevolent presence _**_ever_**_." She breathed a sigh of relief when the look eased off her mom's face before continuing. "And two; freak is not a bad word…unless you're Amish…" The girl laughed, stopping suddenly as she tilted her head, as if giving the notion some serious thought,"…are we Amish?"_

_The silence that followed unsettled the teen, and the nonchalant shrug and mocking smile her mother gave her didn't seem to be helping. No doubt thinking of the perils of life without TV or electricity. "Mom, tell me we're not Amish."_

_The elder woman bit her lip to keep from laughing as she turned away to place a pan on the stove. A beat passed._

_"Mom!"_

_The blonde woman chuckled. "No, we're not Amish. Jeez, If I'd known that family heritage project of yours would've made you so curious about these things, I would've let your history teacher give you the C instead of insisting you get an extra credit assignment. Honestly," the older woman continued, not even noticing the girl beside her mimic the words coming out of her mouth as if she'd heard them a thousand times before, "Who cares if we're Irish or Eskimo…doesn't have anything to do with the here and now. And you know what I always say…"_

_The youthful girl cut her off before she could finish. "I know, I know. Live in the now. How very 'Clueless' of you mom. Cher Horowitz would be proud."_

_"Don't be a smartass, Abbs. Now get to peeling." Amelia ordered, motioning pointedly towards the teens idle hands._

_The girl pouted. "Really?"_

_"Not my fault Abby, you offered. Would I be your mom if I didn't take full advantage?" Amelia joked, raising her brows humorously._

_"No, but I'd probably like you more." The girl snarked, snapping her teeth at the finger her mother had used to flick her nose._

_"Aww, you don't like me? Surprisingly, I'm okay with that."_

__Inside the house__

He should have known. The _Rule of Three _had never failed. Why would it start now?

The reality of just how complicated things were about to get settled over him, the weight of the situation causing him to stagger back into the shadows as he'd unknowingly clutched at the crystal too tightly, releasing a wave of magic that very well could have given him away if Amelia hadn't grown so lax in the craft. If she'd had even a modicum of the power she held back in high school, she'd have been able to detect his signature the minute his car drove into town.

He'd been ready to call for a tactical retreat, because even as desperate as he was and as pissed as Dawn would be for the delay, Charles was above killing children, especially one's wearing a set of purple cloud pajama's he was quite certain his own daughter owned.

Just as he was turning his back on the pair, silently vowing that he'd pay Amelia another visit, a window of opportunity opened unexpectedly. Like a death knell, the phone inside the house rang and, as luck would have it, the teenage girl practically begged to meet her sister out on the highway, and even he quirked his lips at the relieved expression that she gave her mother when she reluctantly gave the okay. It was enough to make him question whether Dawn was secretly casting bones back in Chance Harbor, praying to whatever nefarious deity she could find to help them with their cause.

The girl, _Abby,_ as her mother had lovingly called her, scrambled towards the front of the house as she shoved her feet into the most ridiculous pair of yellow rainboots he'd ever seen. Not even bothering to change out of her pajamas, it became painfully clear to him that this girl had no shame. She grabbed a heavy coat from the rack and made her way to the front door at a pace that was far too eager for someone about to face a cold night and more than a few miserable hours waiting for a car service with her sister in the rain once they realized their car jack was "mysteriously" absent. Apparently, _anything_ really was better than helping with dinner.

__Inside the house__

_"Hey, if you hurry you could probably catch a ride from Ms. Lerner next door, she's got the night shift and she'll be heading in that direction anyway." Amelia offered as she fretted with the zipper on her daughters' coat, rolling her eyes when the girl tried shifting away from her fussing._

_"Oh, she'll do it. That lady owes me one. That beast she calls a dog molested my bike the other day…"_

_Amelia snorted at the girl's dramatics. "Oh please, I've seen rodents bigger than that dog."_

_"I don't care, that mutt worships Satan or something, and I'm not too sure about Ms. Lerner either. No one should be that nice...it's creepy." The girl huffed, giving up her futile struggles as her mother finally managed to wrestle the hood of the jacket over her head. "Mom, puh-lease, I'm not four!"_

_"You've got your inhaler?" Her mother prompted, ignoring her whining._

_"Yes."_

_"Cellphone?"_

_"Yes."_

_"And you'll actually _**_help_**_ your sister and not just stand there and make fun of her for thinking she could change a flat tire by herself after watching one tutorial on the internet no matter how much you want to?"_

_"You're starting to take the fun out of this–but, yes."_

_"And you'll call me when you get there?"_

_"Yes, I'll even send a carrier pigeon and a couple of smoke signals if that doesn't cut it. God good woman, just stick a GPS chip in me and be done with it!"_

_"Don't tempt me." The older woman muttered, pulling the teen in for a kiss on the forehead before turning her towards the front steps. As the young girl made her way down the steps, a beat passed before she stopped dead, her body eerily still as an undefinable look danced over her pretty features._

_Disconcerted by her daughters' immobile form, Amelia tried to rouse her from the trance-like state she'd fallen into, a look of trepidation washing away her healthy complexion. "Abby…?" _

_The stillness was unsettling, and the girl's gaze was fixed ahead of her, as though glimpsing at something only she could see._

_"I-I've got this feeling…" Abby finally voiced, eyes wide, turning back to look at her mother as though she wasn't sure she should be telling her this truth._

_The grave look Amelia gave was all too telling to the calculating eyes watching from the shadows, but it was a look her daughter obviously found herself struggling to name, and it seemed to suffocate the once playful atmosphere. _

_"Good or bad?" The blonde woman asked carefully, understanding that the answer was more important than her daughter would ever know._

_"…Bad, I think. Definitely bad." The teen's expression was pinched, struggling to push the dark feeling out of her system._

_"I get those sometimes…" Amelia offered, glancing around her as if she didn't want to be overheard, and it caused their unnoticed observer to retreat further into the shadows nervously. The worry furrowed Amelia's brow, even as she reached out to rub the same expression away from her daughters' face. "Let it pass, Abby."_

_The teenager looked confused, an earnest look in her dark blue eyes. "Mom?"_

_"The feeling..." Amelia clarified, cupping her daughters' chin firmly so she could look directly into her eyes, "let it pass," she spoke again, more firmly._

_Abby didn't even think of disobeying, so unnerved by the solemn woman who now stood where her playfully stern mother had been not five minutes ago. Even so, it didn't stop Abby from turning back towards her mother and hugging her tightly, maybe even a bit desperately. She then turned and made her way across the lawn, obviously taking her mothers' advice about getting a ride with the neighbor._

_"I'll see you soon, hun!" Amelia called out with a wave, pushing her uncertainties aside for the moment. Watching her daughter trek across the lawn to their neighbors' door safely, waiting another moment to get a nod of confirmation from the kind gray-haired woman dressed in a pair of dark red scrubs and a warm black peacoat, a telling color combination her youngest had always called Cruella DeVil chic. _

_"I've got her, darling!" Ms. Lerner hollered over her shoulder with a backwards wave, ushering the less-than-enthusiastic teen into a nice looking red sedan, before climbing into the driver's seat. _

_"Thanks, Pam!" Amelia called out, smiling as the kind woman gave her another flippant wave as if to say 'don't mention it.'_

__Outside the house__

From his place in the dark, Charles faltered, watching Abby cast a glance back at her mother, noting that she didn't turn around even as the car moved further and further away. It wasn't until he saw the tail lights round the corner that he realized she was acting as if she _**knew**_ it would be the last time she'd ever see her mother alive.

It unsettled him…but not enough to dissuade him.

Fingering the matches in his hand, Charles steadied himself for the onset of magic funneled through the seemingly harmless crystal, momentarily wondering if he should be more bothered at the prospect of taking someone's life.

But then he remembered the fire, remembered that Amelia's weakness for Blackwell had damned them all, remembered her leaving town mere days after he'd confessed his suspicions about Diana's parentage, trusting her with his secret above all the other members of his circle because despite her faults, Amelia had always been the best of them, the only one of them who'd struggled to fight against the darkness their powers were drawn to. Sometimes it was easy to forget that before they'd been a circle, they'd been friends.

Unfortunately, that distinction was irrelevant now.

Amelia Blake owed him a debt, and it was one he intended to collect.

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><p><strong>AN<strong>: Ok…so it's a sister-fic. I went there. But damned if I'm not gonna make this an interesting and hopefully unpredictable ride.

A character image of Abby is available on my authors page if you'd like to check it out, but I won't tell you which actor I've chosen to portray her in case you're one of those readers that likes to leave what the characters look like up to their own imagination. As a side note, I wanted to ask how you all thought I did writing Charles. He was so deviously fun to write, and I'm interested to see if that came across in my writing. Please let me know what you guys think.

**This chapter was altered and edited on 2/9/13**


	3. The Glory of Elephants

**This chapter was altered and edited on 5/29/13**

**Disclaimer:** Don't own a thing…except for Abby and the original plot points in the story.

**AN**: Come on guys just sit tight and give it a chance. I'll do my best to make you enjoy this, no matter how reluctant some of you may be. I appreciate everyone's interest and story alerts, and I hope this new chapter will inspire a few more of you to review. The writing process is always more fun that way.

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**Chapter 3**

**_The Glory of Elephants_**

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**_Abby POV_**

A hush fell over the somber gathering as the preacher (or was it reverend?) uttered the last few lines of that all too familiar Psalms passage immortalized at nearly every funeral held on the planet Earth. Sometimes I wondered if the Church had ever looked into copyrighting the phrase. I imagined priests (or maybe pastors?) had to be tired of it by now, the same way those bi-polar department store clerks that continuously asked if you were finding everything okay really just wanted to kill themselves.

I tried to shift in my seat discreetly, but the squeaking hinges on the white lawn chair gave me away every time. The scandalized glares on the back of my neck were proof enough of that. But as I sat there, I was aware of three things.

One; the hand my sister was clutching like the last pair of boots at a blowout sale just might fall off.

Two; as much money as our grandmother had dished out for this intimate shindig, you'd think the funeral reapers could have given us chairs that _didn't_ make enough noise to wake the dead, never mind alert every mourner within a three-foot radius whenever yours-truly attempted to keep their ill-fitted panty-hose from crawling up their ass.

And three, after the solid two hours I'd spent distracting myself with National Geographic's latest issue while my sister pretended this was all some bad dream that she'd eventually wake up from and my estranged grandmother dealt with the "monumental" task of deciding what she'd feed people at the wake, I was certain that of all the animals I'd read about; I would have enjoyed being an elephant the most.

It was a ridiculous notion, I'm aware, but no more than sitting at a funeral you're sure came fifty years too early, surrounded by people you've never met, worrying if you look sad enough for the eager vultures that morbidly watch your every facial tick. It was almost as if they got together beforehand and commissioned an agreed-upon standard of grief, a flow chart that outlined every stage.

**Stage 1**: You should look put together, but your eyes should be wet, as though you've stopped the tears for this very occasion.

**Stage 2**: The funeral has started and your shoulders should curve in, your brows should furrow, as if the tide of emotions is almost too much to bear.

**Stage 3**: The lowering of the coffin is your cue to lose it, your excuse to go for the Oscar, to throw caution to the wind and ball like it was the last time you'd ever cry in your life.

The fact that you were burying an empty box because there wasn't enough of your mother to place inside the satin lined casket wasn't supposed to show on your face. If that was the case, I'm pretty sure neither was the annoyance you felt that it took your Grandmother an entire week to decide on said casket. Something this unexpected tends to bring out the hysterical side of a person, and I was no exception.

I didn't know much about the people in attendance, or whether any of them were actually related to the woman that's supposed to be lying in the coffin they are lowering into the ground. But then, my mother was never much for sharing, not when it came to anything having to do with life before Beacon Ridge.

My mother had a simple philosophy on dredging up the past; _don't_.

See, I told you, simple.

I do know that I've shaken more hands today then I probably ever will again in my life. Unless I decide to run for President.

_"Hello, thanks for coming." "No, sorry, she never mentioned you." "We're holding up just fine."_ Smile like you mean it, like your heart wasn't breaking, and your world wasn't in shambles. Today, all the sappy cliché rules of heartbreak apply.

My sister Cassie pulled it off far better than I did, and I was actually grateful because it gave me just enough time to sneak off and swallow the pill I managed to snag from Jane Blake's purse. Earlier I'd seen her take a few of them, and they'd been enough to give the haggard old girl a second wind. I figured on a day like today, God and any one else watching from the great beyond wouldn't begrudge me a little solace.

And if not…well, hell was just a sauna filled with people who farted in elevators and stole candy from children, right?

But back to the elephants, because honestly I did have a point. Supposedly, it has been said they never forget. Ever. Urban legend or not, and _come on_, when does National Geographic get stuff like this wrong, I reckon that was a skill I might like to have right about now.

I could already feel them fading, the memories of her, dissolving like mist on the water as it travels away from the surface and up into the warm morning air. The more I reached for them, the further they went. I'm already second guessing things I'd known my entire life—like the way her hair smelled just out of the shower. Rosewood…lavender…jasmine maybe? Or the exact number of laugh lines around the notorious Blake pout. Or which side of the bed she'd favor when Cassie and I climbed in to recount our high school's most salacious gossip. Things I used to be so sure of just weren't as easy to remember, and I wondered if it had something to do with how jarring the loss of her was. Maybe my grief had just wiped the inner workings of my mind clean.

Starring at Cassie was a bittersweet experience in and of itself. Everything about her reminded me of mom, and I didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse.

The shade of her hair, an ashy blonde just like mom's, different from the burnt gold hue of my hair. Hers was bright, but in an iridescent sort of way, with a soft wave touching the light strands. She had the same ice blue in her eyes that made them damn-near pale enough to pass for grey in the right lighting. Looking at Cassie, it was easy to see which of us had taken the lion's share of Blake DNA. It was like having a piece of my mother, and it comforted me enough to ignore the other part of me that was raging inside, crying out that these similarities were a poor substitute.

"Why don't you girls wait in the car while I finish up here?" Jane offered kindly placing her keys into my sister's hand gently, her wild curls tamed into a simple bun, as she ushered us towards her car. I offhandedly observed that it wasn't the right shade of blonde for a Blake, too much red undertone. Petty though it might have been, I'd taken an immediate disliking to it when she'd shown up on our doorstep to plan the funeral and to help us pack up the house. Despite the fact that I'd already decided on maintaining a casual distance with the woman for the duration of the funeral preparations, viewing her more as an intruder than family, she stubbornly fought through every hurdle I threw in her path. Jane Blake had proven to be just as resilient and even-tempered as her daughter. And though she was a virtual stranger to us, my sister and I clung to the familiar character traits that had made our own mom so damn lovable.

But there was an oddness in the way our grandmother looked at me when she thought I couldn't see, and it had left me feeling more than a little paranoid. It was as if she couldn't believe I was there sometimes. It was the way I'd imagined one might look at a unicorn or an old wardrobe that _actually_ led to the mythical land of Narnia. My mother had always attributed these looks to the fact that her mom hadn't learned of my existence until I was seven years old.

I wasn't so easily convinced. But again, mom's rule of no questions lent itself to any and all topics she didn't want to explain further.

I could only hope that our grandmother would be more forthcoming, or at least a little less cautious about what she said around my sister and I since we'd gotten pretty good at reading between the lines.

Unfortunately, that would be the last fully conscious thought I'd have for the day.

Time began slipping away from me, and I imagined this was how Alice must have felt falling down the rabbit hole. Suddenly I'd understood my classmate Martha Mitchell's apt description of walking on clouds, tasting sunlight, and grinning at dancing spots of color after spending a weekend with her tree hugging, mushroom loving step-mother. My eyes blinked sluggishly as I slid into the backseat with my sister. I was leaning my head against her shoulder before I even realized the pill I'd taken was spiriting me away to cloud nine, burying my nose in her soft waves so I wouldn't have to think about how much I missed my mother's. The scent gave me comfort, even though it smelt nothing like mom's. "I love your hair…" I mumbled tiredly, not really aware that I was talking aloud and not just in my head anymore, snuggling closer to the warmth of my sister. "…Almost as good as mom's…_almost_."

Cassie's breath hitched and yet my eyes were already drifting closed, so I didn't see the tears that gathered on her lashes. But I felt them, falling off her chin and onto my cheeks that had stayed dry the entire day. I'd been too numb for tears, and even with my grandmother repeatedly saying there was no shame in them, I hadn't been able to force them out.

But the beauty and tragedy of it all was that with Cassie for a sister, I knew I wouldn't have to.

She'd cry for the both of us.

Just like she'd done when we'd tried to find information on our dad and come up empty-handed. Just like she'd done when mom lost her patience with our never-ending search for answers about where we'd come from and boxed up all the old family photos, tucking them away in a safety deposit box. Just like she would continue to do for the rest of our lives if I let her.

That was my sister. That _was_ Cassie. Maybe she was too good for me. Maybe I didn't deserve her. Who was I to know? But she was mine either way, and I was too selfish to give her up.

I was only half-aware of the way she buried her face in the crown of my head, struggling to quiet her cries as sleep finally claimed me.

Neither of us would have pleasant dreams for a long time, but we'd have each other and for now that was more than enough. 

::

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong>: Hopefully the speedy update will get you guys in a chatty mood, lol. Leave me a review and let me know how much you love/hate this little plot bunny of mine. Questions and such are always welcomed.

Chapters will get longer from here on out as I've got a lot of plot to get through and the next chapter, we'll be diving into the beginning of the TV series.

**This chapter was altered and edited on 5/29/13**


	4. The Road to Xanadu

**Disclaimer**: There are a great deal of pop culture references through out the story that are not mine. Have fun spotting them. I own nothing but Abby.

**AN**: Screw Finals Week! I had to get this out.

::

**Chapter 4**

_**The Road to Xanadu **_

::

Eventually days come and go, no matter how much you wish they didn't. Eventually, each breath and each step gets a little less painful. Eventually, everyone stops saying their sorry for your loss and goes back to their own lives. Eventually, people expect you not to be miserable or to at least find a better way of hiding it.

Eventually sucks.

Because "eventually" is just another way the universe gets to rub our noses in one of its favorite principles: _Shit happens and you have virtually no say in the matter._ And you know people these days want a say on just about everything—I was no exception.

I wanted my extra week of winter, a few more days to lie in bed beside my sister, my hand folded in hers, neither of us saying a word, our heads tucked safely beneath the comforter with the curtains shut and the outside world on mute. I wanted a reprieve from the tingles that had been plaguing the back of my mind ever since Jane Blake had decided we'd be going back to Chance Harbor with her. I wanted more time to pretend the universe was only as big as Cassie and Abigail Blake, and therefore there was no need to miss anyone else, because in that world, our mom didn't exist.

Fate had other intentions.

And like a mother dragging her cavity invested kid to the dentist, Fate would get her way even if it killed you. Kick and scream all you want. It made no difference in the end. I realized this on the fifth day of mine and Cassie's self-imposed isolation, about the same time both of us realized how bad we'd smelled after nearly a week of ignoring the laws of personal hygiene. Girl funk aside, the shower that followed hadn't done much for the turmoil waging war inside of me and, honestly, I was kind of put out. TV melodramas always made it seem like a shower cured everything. Girl finds out she had cancer; crying shower scene. Girl's boyfriend dumped her; crying shower scene. Girl finds out parents are divorcing; crying shower scene. In the TV world, clarity came after the shower. Except in the horror movies...those usually meant busty blonde-girl #2 was about to get butchered. But in every other case mentioned, the girl came to an understanding about her predicament, some life changing realization. Yet there I was, four showers in, still waiting. Where was my epiphany? Where was my cathartic release? Had _Meredith Grey_ been lying to me all this time? If that was the case, my DVR was about to get a lot less crowded.

It wasn't supposed to go this way.

I was meant to get to a point beyond the darkness, where I'd take all the sorrow and pain and grief and holster them onto my back as I readied myself for the leap to the other side, praying the weight wouldn't drag me down. Hoping beyond hope that the grass was greener, the sun brighter, the air clearer; that things were just somehow better on that side.

They called it moving on. Eventually it happened. But then, you already know where I stand on _eventually's._

The thing no one tells you is that the longer you wait, the wider the chasm between the two sides would get. Nor did they think to mention that you'd have to make this daring leap of faith alone.

I guess they assumed you'd be smart enough to figure that out on your own. I wasn't.

Grandma had been the first to jump; making peace with the fact that her daughter was lost to her in a way that only someone as experienced and wise as her could hope to do. I was kind of disturbed at how easy she'd made it all look. But really, I shouldn't have been surprised the resilient woman bounced back from the despair so quickly. The old girl had a lot of miles on her. Embarrassingly enough she could probably take me in a fight, she was _that_ spry. And not just for her age either, I'm talking ninja-like reflexes, hearing so sharp she could hear butterflies fart in India, and a second set of eyes in the back of her head. I was convinced she was a mutant or something equally fantastical, but she'd just grinned and said she'd been a mother for nearly half her life and it came with the territory. If mom equaled super powers, I might have to reconsider popping out a few brats of my own one day. I'd just have to get over my phobia of baby poop and jam-hands.

It wasn't until Cassie started showing signs that she too would be trying for that illusive _other side_ that I started to feel the pressure, unattractive flop-sweat and all. Because in this crazy whacked out metaphoric situation I'd created, I was the poor bastard that couldn't even _see_ the other side. My feelings had proven too much for me, and so I'd buried them just like I always did. And waited for them to magically sort themselves out like I always did; which, unfortunately, they never did. So I just shoved them further down knowing that one day I'd run out of room and probably self-combust.

Repression was a beautiful thing…or it would've been if I wasn't so afraid of being left behind.

The house was all packed up, everything Cassie and I wouldn't be taking with us placed in storage. But my careless confession in the car still weighed on me. Four weeks after the funeral, and I still felt like the crud you'd scrape off the bottom of a garbage mans work boot for what I'd said to Cassie; like I'd kicked Tiny Tim in his only shin the night before Christmas and then run away with his crutch so he couldn't get up.

Yeah, I felt _that_ bad. And unfortunately, when it concerned Cassie's feelings, guilt was not something I could easily repress.

There was no excuse for what I'd done. No "sorry, my bad" or "the pill made me do it" would've sufficed. I'd kicked a girl when she was down, but more importantly, I'd kicked a girl on the worst day of her life; poking at a wound I'd known good and well hadn't even been close to healing.

As the oldest, my sister Cassie was well versed in the art of ripping me a new one when the situation called for it. And who was I to deny her of that? So in the spirit of giving, I'd sheepishly confessed to swiping one of Grandmas' Valium pills when no one had been looking. Even at the time, I knew it was a dumb idea. Dumber even than the time I'd tried to keep mom away from parent/teacher night by telling her Cassie might've been pregnant because I'd accidentally implied—in a round about sort of way—that my French teacher Ms. Lore had a preference for hairy busty women. In my defense, I'd been preoccupied with eavesdropping on the conversation between two girls in front of me...and I was pretty sure it was true either way.

I only _wish _Cassie's lecture had been as tame as the 'hugs not drugs' route our school counselor's bumper sticker advertised. And now that I think about it, I'm not even sure a hard knock to the back of my head and a threat to shave off my hair while I slept would technically be called a lecture. Though she did cover for me by telling our grandmother I'd taken too much cold medicine before we left which had to say something about the bonds of sisterhood.

Honestly, I would've been prouder of the fact that I'd gotten Cassie to display an emotion other than sadness if I wasn't so terrified of her wrath, or that I'd wake up without my pretty, pretty hair. Call me shallow, but the prospect of waking up bald scared me worse than any slideshow my health teacher had shown of _your-brain-on-drugs. _

Cassie and I found ourselves in sort of a _blah_ phase after that week we spent mourning together. And whether it was her silent ire or my nagging conscience, I'd been forced to do the unthinkable...seek outside help. This was a first for me, since my sister and I had always been able to work our problems out by ourselves.

Either way, it was enough to force me into forming a tentative alliance with my grandmother as she made preparations for our transfer to Chance Harbor. I'm currently attempting to convince her that letting two underage teenage girls drive ten hours unsupervised was a _good_ idea.

You can imagine how well that was going.

"No."

"But, Jane-"

My grandmother cleared her throat pointedly, peeking at me over the rim of the reading glasses she'd been using to look through some legal documents at the little coffee table of her hotel room.

That look was scary.

"I-I mean—Grandmother...?" I said stiffly, the formal title leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I'd been mentally sampling all the things I could possibly call her, trying to see which one I was most comfortable with. Apparently I'd also have to take into account which ones she'd let me use. Go figure.

"Grams..." Seeing that it was better received than the last, I went on. "It's just, umm, you know...you've got your own car to drive back and we've still got the SUV so I just thought it'd make sense for Cassie and I to drive it up there." I reasoned for the second time since we'd started this battle of wills, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Cassie was still preoccupied blow drying her hair.

"Yes, you mentioned that already." She snarked lightly, and I would've glared if it wasn't for what she'd said next. "What you haven't mentioned is the _real _ reason you want to drive up there by yourself. Now, if you want to try this again, without talking out of your ass, I'll be more than happy to listen, otherwise..." She trailed off, making a move to get up.

"All right, all right..." I whispered fiercely, motioning her back into her seat before her movement could catch my sister's attention. The old bird smiled triumphantly, and I have to admit I might have liked her more because of it. "Cassie and I aren't exactly 'vibing' right now—"

"On account of you self-medicating with my pills at the funeral?" She interrupted.

My eyes widened. "How'd you—I mean...what?"

"Super powers, remember. Best you get acquainted with them now."

_Well_, I thought, mentally straightening my clothes,_ its official_. I'd have to be CIA level sneaky to get anything passed this woman, and even then it was a 50/50 chance.

"Right well, I just want to make things right with her before we have to start over in a new school, with new people and I just...don't like fighting with her." I mumbled, scratching the back of my neck.

The look she gave me was a hard one.

A beat passed.

"Okay."

I blinked. "Really?"

She grinned at me. "I swear you teenagers are daunting creatures...so surprised when the truth actually gets you somewhere."

"Well, _yeah_."

"For future reference, the truth _always_ gets you somewhere with me Abigail."

"Noted." I said happily, patting myself on the back for a job well done. And I didn't even cringe at my full name.

She laughed at the giddy look on my face, going back to her documents. I made to get up before sitting back down quickly as a thought struck me. "Just out of curiosity, how much trouble would I be in for the pill thing if I couldn't pull the dead-mommy card?"

I may have liked Grandma Jane a bit more now, but that didn't mean I'd be willing to completely forego the apathetic veneer I'd fashioned myself the minute I learned we'd be moving into a town smaller than a thumb tack. There would be plenty of strangers in Chance Harbor who wouldn't care that our mother had died, and the last thing I wanted to do was come off as the overly sensitive girl that needed to be held every time someone even thought the word _mom_. No, that side of myself I reserved just for my sister, and only in the most dire of circumstances would it make an appearance.

My bravado only went so far, and make no mistake, I held my breath for the entire time it took her to respond. Her face had been quick to recover from the shock of the question, and now it looked, dare I say, soft. She sat up, reaching out a tentative hand to smooth down my hair. The sensation was familiar yet foreign as I'd never experienced it with her. We'd both been far too leery to move passed the 'supportive-hand-on-shoulder' level of our new relationship to attempt anything that affectionate before now. I closed my eyes, allowing myself this small comfort as her soothing words drifted up to my ears. "Everybody's allowed to screw-up, Abigail. That is the beauty of youth. I won't fault you for your mistakes so long as you learn from them."

I smiled then, thinking that I might have just found my new 'Yoda.' She'd probably prove to be a lot more useful than the fortune cookie's I'd always turned to for advice.

{_}

About twenty minutes into the drive, I was seriously rethinking the whole road-trip Ya-Ya sisterhood bonding.

The trip I'd envisioned was supposed to be an opportunity to try and renew our faith in the dwindling family unit we'd forged away from any and all reminders of my mothers past; separate from the likes of her quaint little hometown of Chance Harbor and Jane Blake. As awesome as I was finding her now that I'd stopped actively trying to hate the woman, our grandmother was virtually a stranger to us, and I could count on my hand the number of times we'd actually seen her throughout our lives.

To be fair, I didn't know if that was her fault or mom's.

In the past, people had always accused me of watching too much television, but I swear I never saw that as a problem until now. Because the reality of this little adventure most definitely was not living up to the fantasy, nor would it inspire a heartwarming episode of _Gilmore Girls_ like I'd imagined. Partly because I'd _grossly_ overestimated the appeal of being stuck in a moving vehicle for ten hours; but mostly because Cassie and I weren't so much bonding as we were sitting in uncomfortable silence, switching seats every other stop, and systematically bursting into tears every time the radio played a halfway depressing song, which apparently for my sister was **all** of them. Though how the likes of Bieber and Britney reduced my sister into crying jags that could rival an overly hormonal pregnant woman was a complete mystery to me.

Drumming my hands against the steering wheel uneasily, I was at a loss for what to say. Cassie was busy messing with the volume knob on the stereo. The way her jaw was tensing and her lips were puckering I knew she could feel me staring even as she actively chose to ignore me, turning her gaze out the passenger window. That felt _great_ by the way. The billboards advertising cures for male-pattern baldness, deodorant, and erectile disfunction were more appealing than holding a simple conversation with me. I would've taken more offense if the Axel body spray model's abs hadn't made me swerve into the neighboring lane. Those ad execs really needed to find uglier dudes to advertise or at least clothe them for god sakes. They were a hazard on the road.

I snorted when the old lady in the station wagon behind me flipped me off, turning to Cassie to share the hilarity of the moment but all she gave me was an irritated glare. So things were looking up. At least she'd looked at me this time. But at this rate, we wouldn't make it to whole sentences before we ran out of road.

I'd like to reiterate that however evolved and eloquent I may seem, and trust me I've got the verbal PSAT's scores to prove that I'm capable of making the English language my bitch, I was still first and foremost, a teenage girl—prone to bouts of idiocy the likes of which no rational person can comprehend post adolescence. I also passed desperate about two exits back so my mouth had pretty much stopped taking its cues from my brain at this point. Which, sadly, is my only defense.

"_Soooooo_…how bout that Taylor Swift?"

"…" I didn't have to see Cassie's face to know she was rolling her eyes, pushing herself closer to the passenger-side door. Not discouraging at all.

"Why guys keep dating her, I'll never know." I tried again, waiting a beat, giving her ample time to come up with a retort.

"…"

Okay, I'd give her two more minutes to use the silent treatment before I started the hair pulling.

"She calls them out in every song…Drew, John, Joe, pretty soon we'll be hearing about the dude that messed up her order at Starbucks. Its like '_girl get a filter already'…_" I laughed awkwardly, so much so that even though this is my sister, who's seen me in absolutely every ugly/pimply/awkward phase imaginable and yet is required to love me regardless, I want to shoot myself in the foot just to focus on something other than how red my face must be. The uncomfortable tightening in my chest was always the cherry on top of these fits of verbal diarrhea.

Cassie barely spared me a glance as she dug through the purse at her feet for a few seconds, pulling out my inhaler in a move so quick it really shouldn't surprise me anymore. I take it from her gratefully as the shortness of breath comes just as she predicted and take a few deep breaths from the inhaler before handing it back to her and placing both of my hands back on the wheel. The care she's shown, even as she's been trying to ignore me all this time, warms me, and yet it's not enough to stave off the heaviness in the car.

This silence, this inability to connect at a time we so obviously needed to was killing me.

But it wasn't until after we'd passed the _Welcome to Chance Harbor_ sign that I'd decided subtle wasn't working. I swerved off the highway abruptly, jerking us in our seats and earning a few honks from the cars behind.

"Abby, what the hell!" Cassie panted, catching her breath from the jarring transition.

"Sorry!" I huffed, climbing out of the car, frustratingly grabbing the length of my hair before viciously twisting it into a sloppy topknot. It was my version of war paint. Hair up meant game on.

"I can't have this…hanging over us for the next twenty-seven miles! It's gonna drive me bat-shit, ok?" My arms flailed wildly.

"I think it already _has_." My sister snorted, and I could have wept I was so happy.

"That's it," I encouraged, "keep it coming. I'll take you dumping on me over this pretending I don't exist thing any day."

"Abby-"

"No, okay, It's _me_. I get why you're mad. I know I never say the right thing, and if I do its at the wrong time. But I am sorry, for being stupid, for hurting you, for being insensitive..." At Cassie's incredulous look I amended, "Okay, _more_ insensitive then usual."

She ran a hand through her hair tiredly, her shoulders slumping as she came around to join me at the hood of the car, leaning beside me. If I hadn't known her my whole life I might have missed the calculated way she propped herself up, trying to make up for the glaringly obvious height difference, an action that would've had me cackling like an idiot any other day. Turns out I wasn't the only Blake with a complex.

"I mean it Cass, I'm really, _really_ sorry." I took a minute to steady my heart rate before I could work myself into a very real panic attack. This was it, this was my last ditch effort to salvage the wreckage of my family. This was where sixteen years of being a sister, one half of a whole, amounts to something useful.

"I _get_ that you're sad. I _get_ that the angst-factor here is off the charts. But I need you to realize that _right_ here, _right_ now, we're all we've got." Knuckles cracking, I took to pacing in front of Cassie, catching her clear-blue eyes mid-rant. "Grandma Jane is great, she _is_. But we've known our mail man longer than we've known this woman."

Which was true.

For all I knew, this whole supportive grandma thing could be a smoke screen. She could be the kind old maid who lured gullible twits like Hansel and Gretel into her cottage only to eat their livers, or even worse...she could be a cat lady.

"So what are you saying exactly? Act like some sarcastic unfeeling robot…because I think you've pretty much got that covered!" She shouted, rubbing stubbornly at the moisture on her face. I swallowed thickly at her crude assessment of my coping method, finding fault in nothing she'd said.

I will admit that Cassie's way of dealing with her grief was probably a heck of a lot healthier than mine. While she desperately strived to purge herself of the overwhelming back-breaking sadness, I was doing everything in my power to forget about the hollow feeling in my chest.

Looking at the bright side, at least my way meant my mascara lasted twice as long as hers.

Unlike Cassie, I drew great comfort from just being around my sister. There was a familiar warmth to her, a presence I associated only with her and mom. And I'd convinced myself that so long as I stayed beside that warmth that I'd be fine. I used the feeling to assure myself that Cassie was still here, alive and well, a piece of my family fate hadn't taken, a piece I could cling to with both hands now that our mom was gone.

It didn't escape my notice the way my hands shook when Cassie wasn't with me, and I sat anxiously counting the seconds until she was within my sight. This new dependency left me feeling ashamed and childish, but I was too far gone and too accustomed to the numb contentment she brought me now.

"I'm not like _you_ Abby, I can't pretend like everything is okay…like never being able to see mom again isn't…isn't _killing_ me…I just want it to get better." Cassie hiccuped as strong sobs rattled through her body, and I can't even put into words what seeing her like that did to me.

Mentally, I sent a small prayer up high, before quickly bringing my hands to either side of Cassie's flushed face, forcing her to look at me. "I'm not saying don't cry—that only looks good on me." I joked lightly, happy when it earned me an eye-roll, "I'm not saying don't be sad. All I'm saying is…don't shut me out." Even to my ears it sounds like begging.

"The last thing I want to be is the ball and chain that holds you back, but...I'm not ready to start over yet. But you _are_. School's gonna start and you'll bury yourself in the newness of it all, and somewhere along the way, you'll leave me behind. I'm just asking for baby steps here, Cass. You know...test the waters a bit before we dive in." I cleared my throat, counting backwards to ten when I felt the emotions burning the back of my throat. Cassie took all this in, like a sponge and I could practically feel the relief pouring from her body, that I wasn't completely unaffected, that I wasn't completely lost.

I knew she could hear the utter desperation in my voice. Her eyes widened and her back straightened, bracing herself. "I need you to tell me I'm **enough**, that this isn't any less of a family just because mom's not here. It's the only way I'm gonna make it through any of this halfway sane." By the end, I'm whispering like this was a secret I couldn't bare to share, feeling more exposed then I'd ever been in my life.

It took awhile for her mouth to form coherent sentences, and it had given me plenty of time to second guess myself. Maybe I'd said to much? Or perhaps I'd waited too long to fix the damage? Or maybe—my train of thought was abruptly stopped when the deceptively delicate looking blonde sucker punched me in the arm.

"OWW!" I rubbed my throbbing arm, flinching back when the little devil made to reach for me again, only this time with far less violent intentions.

Which was lucky...for her.

"You're insane, you know that?" Cassie said after she'd pulled back from the impromptu hug.

"Am not, mom had me tested after the whole Tinkerbell obsession." I defended hotly.

Cassie shook her head laughingly at the familiar protest. "You'd have to be to think I could ever leave you behind. We're a team Abbs, win _or_ lose, we do it together."

Oh. "Well—all right then. Glad we...umm...cleared that up." I chirped at a loss for words, letting her pull me into another embrace, this one more welcomed now that I knew she wouldn't hit me. Smiling secretly into the crown of her hair, I wrapped my arms around her neck pressing her head further into my shoulder, squeezing hard enough to make her squeal in protest. Times like this, I really felt bad for the only children of the world.

Of course, a passing motorists vulgar gestures and leering voice broke the moment. "Whooooo, take your shirts off!"

My sister and I stumbled away from each other as if we'd been burnt. We glanced at each other as we both busted out laughing, no doubt thinking the same thing._ Say hello to our new neighbor._

"That's probably our cue..." Cassie motioned towards the car after we'd caught our breath.

"Yeah, but you drive though..." I said, tossing the keys as I leisurely made my way to the passenger side door.

"Why?"

I smirked. "My arm hurts."

"Oh god, you're really gonna milk this aren't you?"

The innocent smile I gave her as I rested my feet on the dashboard pretty much said it all.

{_}

Grandma Jane was waiting on the steps when Cassie and I pulled up to _321 Humboldt Lane_. I gave her a discreet thumbs-up sign as my sister rounded the SUV and we shared a smirk before she shifted it into a less devious expression to greet Cassie.

"How was the drive girls?"

"Fine." Cassie smiled softly, hugging our grandma gently before stepping back so I could do the same. I made a big show of it, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "best. plan. _ever_." The curly haired woman laughed conspiringly as she pulled back.

"Well, come on inside and let's get you two settled in."

"Just as soon as _Cassie_ here grabs the bags." I grinned patting my sister on the back, before taking the steps two at a time. "I would help, but my arm..."

My sister huffed, walking towards the trunk as she mumbled under her breath. "Should've hit you in your face...least I could still make you carry stuff then."

Our grandma raised a brow in confusion. "What's wrong with your arm?"

"She beats me. It's her new thing." I offered helpfully, brushing a few strands of hair away from my face.

"Shut up, Abby." Cassie grumbled, teetering back and forth from the weight of both our suitcases.

"I'm so glad you both are here. It will definitely bring some life back into these old bones."

My taunting smile fell as she turned away from us to open the front door, and I whispered out the side of my mouth when Cassie finally made it up the front steps beside me. "Is it just me or did that sound creepy?"

"What, you still think she's gonna _grind our bones to make her bread_? Maybe sacrifice a few virgins while she's at it, huh?" Cassie smiled, an amused lilt to her voice as she crab-walked over the threshold with our bags. I made a mocking face at the back of her head before following.

"Whoa...welcome to Halliwell Manner." I took in my surroundings, eyes wide as saucers no doubt, turning in a full circle, looking back at my sister incredulously, OMG clearly written all over my face.

But Cassie was in a world all her own. "So this is where mom grew up?"

I nodded at that. It definitely was a weird place to imagine our mom growing up in, very traditional looking and our mother had been anything but traditional.

"Come on, I'll show you the rooms." Our grandmother beckoned us up the stairs.

Glancing around once more, both my sister and I paused on the landing. The short imp took this opportunity to shove one of the bags she was carrying into my gut. "Oomph!" I grunted, the breath literally knocked out of me. I could see our grandmother from her position down the hall fighting to keep the grin off her face.

"Kids today," I sniffed, taking the rest of the stairs with my head held high,"so rude."

Grandma Jane nodded her head in mock sympathy as I walked passed her, and I knew she and Cassie were silently laughing at my expense. Good riddance to them both!

"This was your mother's room, I'll let you two decide who gets it." Grandma offered, stepping aside to let both of us enter. It had real charm, and little touches of our mother everywhere. The walls were a pale shade of mint, pictures and shiny trinkets spilled over the tops of the antique dressers and side tables, and it had the cutest little window seat lined with pillows in varying shades of green that would be perfect for curling up to watch the rain.

Me and Cassie perused the room for all of five seconds before we turned towards each other, arms crossed, ready for battle. Good thing I'd put my hair up earlier.

"I'm older." Cassie started.

I snorted at that. "I'm _taller_."

"I forgave you." Cassie tried.

"And I _forgave_ you for mauling my arm." I offered cheekily, brushing lent off the sleeve of my t-shirt. "Mighty big of me wouldn't you say?"

Her eyes flashed, and I mentally counted it as a point in my favor. It wasn't like I wouldn't let her have the room anyway, but I might as well have my fun while I'm at it. Right?

I pointedly took a step back from our starring match to have a few whispered words with Grandma Jane before turning back to my sister. "Tell you what...I'll be the bigger person here. The room is yours, okay?" I smiled, hefting my bad onto my shoulder before turning on my heel to make a quick exit when Cassie held up a hand to stop me.

"Wait a minute. That's it?"

"Yup! Don't ever say I never gave you anything." I made to leave again, only getting a few steps further.

"The other room has a bigger closet doesn't it?"

A beat passed.

"...Maybe...but...NO TAKE BACKS!" I threw over my shoulder, hoofing it to the spare guest room down the hall and slamming the door before she could get any fancy ideas. I considered the resounding slam my version of peeing on my territory.

I could hear Cassie and my Grandma laughing even through the door, but hey...I could definitely tune them out to stare in silent reverence at my brand new walk in closet.

{_}

After a quick dinner that consisted of pizza and poptarts since Grandma had been too exhausted from her own drive to cook, both Cassie and I decided to call it a night, retreating to our new bedrooms, though mine was decidedly less cozy than Cassie's. I hadn't been in my bed long before I realized I wasn't going to get any sleep. So I snuck down the hall, Snoopy pjs and all, slipping into Cassie's room just as she dropped her bathrobe. Timing was everything.

"My eyes!" I slapped a hand over my face, blindly searching for her bed so I could stick my head under the pillows.

"Abby! Knock much?" Cassie screeched, scrambling to pull the shirt she'd laid out previously over her head.

My free hand groped the air in front of me, and I inched forward a bit more every time I came up empty. "Oh god, I'll knock every day for the rest of my life just put the headlights away before you blind me!" I cheered silently when my outstretched hand met the comforter, crawling into it and under the covers to safety.

"All clear, and this goes in the vault." My sister said stiffly as I poked my head out from beneath her blankets, waiting for my nod confirming that this would join the topics we'd never discuss in front of company, before shutting the lights off. That's when I noticed her window.

"Jeez, what are you some kind of voyeur now?" I griped, getting up from the comfy haven of her bed to shut her curtains, sparing a fleeting glance at the window that looked straight into her room.

She glanced back at her curtains oddly, as we both slipped back into her bed. "But I could have sworn I..."

"Ooh, looky...stars!"

"You're a _child_. And you have the attention span of a goldfish." My sister huffed, shaking her head as she settled back to gaze up at them with me. "Why are you in here anyways?"

I shrugged, never taking my eyes off the glow in the dark sky above me. "Couldn't sleep."

"Abby." The way she said my name, I didn't have to look at her to know she was frowning.

"I got lonely." I muttered, turning on my side to face her and tucking myself into her side before she could over analyze what I'd said. "Can I stay?" I even threw in a few pathetic whimpers while trying to pout irresistibly.

"Alright...but just for tonight."

"Oh we can talk specifics later."

"I mean it Abby. Just tonight and then you'll put on your big girl panties and sleep in your own bed."

"Sure, sure." I waved her off easily, enjoying the hum of our connection too much to fight her. For whatever reason, the warmth I'd always associated with her presence seemed more intense, fiercer than usual.

I'd be lying if I said this new feeling didn't scare me a little, but I tried to ignore the unease I felt, letting Cassie's even breaths lull me to sleep.

::

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong>: So there's a bit of the first episode. I could've kept going, but I felt like shoving the whole episode along with all the changes I made would've been a little much. I'm trying to coax you people into liking Abby. I don't want to shove her down your throat.

It's a balancing act.

All of your reviews really pushed me to give you this update. I feel like I've made you wait long enough, and once I get my first final out of the way tomorrow, I'll have more free time to finish chapter five.

Some of you asked if I could do chapters from Cassie POV's as well and while I am seriously entertaining the idea, I wanted to ask how you guys felt about me switching over to third person narrative in general. That way you'd get more insight into what everyone's thinking as opposed to just what Abby thinks they're thinking since most of the story is told from her point of view. Let me know guys. Also I made some changes to chapter 2 and 3 on May 7th, so if you read them before that date, there is a bit of a difference and a couple key story elements I added for plot points that will unravel down the line.

Hope you enjoy the update, but feel free to let me know either way. Don't have a beta-reader so any mistakes you see are my own.


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